


Awake in Manhattan

by lilshacc



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Brooding Steve, Eventual Romance, Hurt Steve, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Peter's a cute kid, Shellhead and Winghead, Steve is Tom Hanks, Superfamily (Marvel), Tony is Meg Ryan, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 14:18:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18100202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilshacc/pseuds/lilshacc
Summary: Tony inhales slowly, his lips stretching wide in a very put upon smile as his heart races within him for some very odd reason. “Oh yeah? That’s so unlike Matt,” he says in what he hopes is a casual way. “What’s the big deal with this Sleepless in Seattle guy anyway?”Pepper immediately turns to him with raised eyebrows and Tony flushes under her gaze. “How did you know that’s what they called him?”Tony waves his hand dismissively, quickly averting his gaze. “Oh, you know. Word got around,” he mutters, hoping she’d move on from him.Or: The one where Peter tries (and mostly succeeds) in playing matchmaker.





	Awake in Manhattan

Peter sits on the bed even though his dad had told him not to repeatedly, because they hadn’t gotten around to unpacking the mattress yet and so the bed was just a metal frame right now. Peter doesn’t think he minds very much. The only thing is all the hard places are poking up into his bum which doesn’t feel very nice, but if he complains about it now, his dad will probably turn around from the boxes he’s crouched in front of just to say “I told you so,” and Peter doesn’t want another half-hearted lecture.

He swings his legs back and forth, idly watching his new shoes light up with the movement. Peter heaves a deep sigh, trying subtly to let his dad know just how much the boredom has caused him to start wasting away slowly, and hey, maybe some ice cream would do the trick of reviving him once more. He swings both legs faster and faster when the sighs don’t work, and the bed frame starts to squeak ominously.

That too, was apparently in vain. His father pays him no attention, or more likely, has heard Peter and is opting not to indulge in his antics. Peter pouts at the solid line of his dad’s back when he stands up with a hefty stack of books in both arms and makes his way over to where Peter is sitting.

His dad grins at him and the grumpy expression that has made itself at home on Peter’s face before crouching down until he’s at Peter’s level. The pile of books teeters dramatically to one side, but his dad hurriedly repositions his arms so that he’s cradling them more securely. Peter watches in mild awe as the books just right themselves in his father’s grasp once again. He has yet to see his dad fail to make things better for them, even the worst things.

Even when Peter’s mom had gotten really sick and she slept at the hospital for what seemed like ages in Peter’s perception of time, and they hadn’t known what was wrong with her. Even when the doctors had come and told them they’d have to go back home without her, and his dad had just held out his hand for Peter to take and they’d gone to his Uncle Bucky’s and Peter had gotten to eat ice cream for dinner.

That was ages ago. Peter remembers staying with his Uncle for a long time, and he hadn’t seen his mom after all that time in the hospital, because his dad had told him she wasn’t going to be coming back with them. When Peter had asked if it was because he hadn’t eaten his peas for dinner the night before, his dad had started to cry. That was most definitely the worst thing Peter has ever seen, and it had made him cry as well.

His dad had made it all better though. All of that was almost two whole birthdays ago, if he recalls correctly. Peter is almost seven now. He’ll be going to a new school after the summer was over, and his dad had promised him that he’d make a ton of friends and that he was going to love their new home. His dad was making them a new life, kind of like when he was painting but it didn’t turn out the way he wanted, so his dad would rip the paper very carefully off the easel and smooth his hand down the crisp white surface of a blank sheet so he could start again.

That’s what they were doing. They were starting again on a fresh piece of paper, except the paper was Seattle and they lived in a really small house, Peter thought.

“Give me a couple minutes to get these set up on the shelf and we’ll go out for burgers?” Peter’s dad says, interrupting his train of thought. At the sound of the word “burgers” Peter perks up immediately, all else forgotten temporarily. He nods enthusiastically until his dad chuckles and places a large hand on top of his head to stop his head from moving so much. Peter nudges his head into his dad’s hand like a sleepy cat, even letting out a quiet meow to complete the act.

His dad ruffles his hair with a soft laugh and stands up again, heading into the living room to presumably put the books away. Peter watches him leave with a wide grin on his face, thinking about how his dad has done such a good job at fixing their broken life.

Later, when he’s buckled into the car in the front seat even though he’s technically not supposed to be sitting up there (even though he’s tall enough), he watches his dad gaze out the window as they’re stopped at a red light. He’s got that sad look in his eyes that Peter tries so hard to take away but it never really works. He knows it’s because of his mom, and Peter gets really sad about her too, but he always has his dad to make him feel better again.

Peter realizes abruptly that his dad doesn’t really have anyone to make him feel better, and Peter himself can’t possibly count because he’s only seven.

He watches curiously as people continue to cross the street, passing in front of their car. There’s a very large group of girls wearing the same outfit, dark grey sweaters with a yellow knight embroidered on the chest, and then a really old lady follows with her hands braced against the handles of her walker as she pushes it across the street, and finally, a small family, the mom pushing a stroller that his dad tells him has a baby inside of it, the dad holding on tightly to a little kid’s hand and the long blue leash of a panting cocker spaniel wrapped around his free wrist.

Peter’s eyes follow them until they make it to the other side of the street. The light turns green and they start moving again.

It hits him like the pain of stepping on a billion pieces of Legos all at once. Peter realizes exactly what his dad needs to feel better again, and he can’t help feeling a little stupid for not having seen it before.

If only he knew how to go about getting a new mom, Peter could be one step closer to making his dad happy again. Maybe he’d ask his Uncle Bucky when he saw him next.  
~  
“But why do you have to go anyway,” Peter whines plaintively from the pile of blankets he’s surrounded himself in. He clutches the copy of “The Sorcerer’s Stone” that Bucky had bought for him for his birthday to his chest, and pouts up at Steve as he stands at the foot of Peter’s bed wearing what he hopes is a stern frown on his face.

“Pete, we talked about this,” Steve tries to reason once again, probably in vain. “You got two chapters of Harry Potter today, that’s one whole chapter more than we’d agreed on.”

Peter huffs and pushes the book away from him, sinking down into his pillows with tears rapidly gathering in his tired eyes. Steve sighs and moves in closer, pushing away some of Peter’s stuffed toys to perch on the edge of his bed.

“Don’t do that, bud,” Steve pleads, brushing brown locks out of Peter’s face. “Remember when I said I got two jobs so that we can live here and eat lots of pizza and maybe, possibly, get a dog? Well, I’m going to have to go to one of those jobs if you still want all that, Pete.”  
Peter sniffs and buries his face into the soft fur of his toy dog. He nudges his head into Steve’s hand, and Steve nearly breathes out in relief.

“Your Uncle Bucky is going to sleep here tonight, and in the morning he’ll make your favourite blue pancakes that I can’t ever get right. I’ll be home before you finish up and we can go biking tomorrow,” Steve acquiesces, stroking his thumb over Peter’s brow. “How does that sound?”

He gets a soft snore as his answer. Peter’s fast asleep, his nose still tucked against his toy and his head resting against Steve’s hand. Grinning to himself, Steve swoops down to press a kiss to his son’s forehead before very gingerly lifting his body off the mattress. The bed shifts suspiciously when he gets off and he thrusts both hands out, as if cursing it to stillness. Thankfully, Peter merely stirs in his sleep, but doesn’t awaken.

When he leaves the room, he finds Bucky curled up on the couch watching My Best Friend’s Wedding for the hundredth time probably, and Steve shakes his head at him in amusement as he swings his bag over one shoulder and steps out the front door. He gets inside of his car, igniting the engine and backing out of the driveway, irritatingly aware of Bucky’s very unsubtle, piercing gaze from inside the house.

Much later, when he’s changed into his uniform and studying a hologram in the cockpit of a SHIELD Helicarrier, Steve can’t help but wonder once again, if he’s doing the right thing for his son.

~

“Widow, incoming on your six,” Steve murmurs into the comm link as he viciously swings his shield into the neck of a giant flying Doombot. He leaps off the pile of smoldering cars he had climbed on top of earlier to gain more leverage and lands on both feet, just in time to see the Black Widow flip off the side of the thirty-storey building she had been scaling to grab onto the back of a flying bot.

“Saw it comin’, Cap,” she retorts breathlessly as the bot weaves in and out of the buildings in the heart of Manhattan, steadily making its way towards the gaping portal in the middle of Times Square.

Steve starts running to the portal, although he’s at least seven blocks away. Thor was supposed to have come back with Loki by now, with a solution to their little problem, but there is no sign of the god’s imminent arrival. He hears a familiar whine of repulsors and two successive blasts behind him. 

“Need a ride, Captain?” Iron Man drawls through the voice modulator of the suit as he flies towards Steve.

“Always, Shellhead,” Steve replies, a grin coming across his severely cut up face when Iron Man swoops down to pick him up. Steve adjusts his stance on the armour’s back so that he is more secure and hangs on for the ride, as smooth as ever.

“Not really how I imagined I would spend my evening, but I can’t say that I’m not enjoying this,” Iron Man says, barely dodging past an ill-aimed laser strike. Steve nods in agreement before realizing that Iron Man can’t see him.

“You say that now, but wait ‘till we close that portal and we’re back at SHIELD for the godawful debrief.” Not to mention the clean-up and the following onslaught of press that most of them will have to encounter. Steve hadn’t really put much thought any of the stuff that came after the explosions and all the punching when he’d signed up for the job, but he’s come to regret it immensely.

Iron Man laughs, and Steve can’t help but feel at awe of the quality of the suit’s technology that makes it so his laugh sounds so real. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time Steve had been curious about one of the aspects of Iron Man’s infamous armour, and probably not the last time either.

“Bold of you to assume I will be at the debrief, Cap,” Iron Man says, dropping Steve gently on his feet as they arrive at the portal. 

Steve looks up through the gaps of his cowl as Iron Man flies a loop around the portal before landing steadily on his feet nearby. “Bold of you to assume I won’t drag you there, kicking and screaming be damned.”

The Black Widow leaps nimbly off the back of the bot and crouches down on her haunches in front of the portal. She glances up at Steve through her black mask, red lips twisted into a sly smirk. “Enough chatter, boys. Let’s work on getting rid of this thing so I can get back to my unopened bottle of Chardonnay.”

The ground vibrates under their feet as the Hulk approaches with Hawkeye standing with alarming balance upon his shoulders. He bends down to let Hawkeye off before immediately straightening himself to grab a flying bot out of the air. They watch the Hulk make a fist around it, pieces of metal and loose wiring being squished out the sides of his hand.

Iron Man flinches outwardly, before catching Steve’s look of confusion aimed at him. “It physically pains me to see the destruction of good tech,” he says.

“You think that’s good tech, Iron Man? What’s all that crap Stark’s been working on then?” Hawkeye retorts, aiming an arrow at an oncoming craft containing at least three Doombots.

“Clearly, Stark Industries has the superior tech. Doom’s tech could never compete, of course, but still, it’s good tech gone to waste,” Iron Man replies with a deeply put upon sigh. 

“Cut the chatter, Avengers,” Steve cuts in with one hand to his comm. The bots have stopped emerging from the portal, but the ones in the city are far from defeated. They’ve collectively taken out perhaps a fifth of the horde that had entered the city earlier that night. “Anyone got a read on Thor? We’ve got to shut this thing down and now would be great.”

Widow gets to her feet, the Widow Bites on her wrist crackling with electricity as she eyes the chaos around them. “He should be here any minute now. We can’t do anything about the portal until they get here. Until then, we’ve got to keep the bots here, away from the city.”

“Copy that, Widow,” Steve says, directing his attention to the various superheroes gathered in an ill-arranged circle with their backs around the glowing portal. “Iron Man, take to the skies, I want you on the ones that can fly. Hawkeye, scale that building to the South. Take out as many as you can, keep them inside of the evacuated zone.” The two nod and Iron Man lifts off into the air with the twin sound of his repulsors whining, taking Hawkeye with him.

“Hulk, you’re going to cover our perimeter, make sure the bots don’t step out of it, and Widow, you’re with me on the ground. We’ll notify everyone when Thor arrives.” The Hulk takes off with great bounding leaps that leave the ground shaking underneath them, and Widow positions herself on the other side of the portal with her back against Steve’s.

“If Thor doesn’t get here soon, we’re pretty much toast, Cap,” Hawkeye comments, panting into the comm link. “And I mean that literally.”

As if on cue, the black midnight sky above the sparkling lights of Manhattan is illuminated with the jagged lines of blinding lightning. Thunder claps with a deafening boom, drowning out the sound of the fight occurring on the ground. 

Thor arrives with his hammer blazing light into the skies, his vibrant red cape fluttering fiercely as he lands on both feet with Loki following close behind him. He grins widely at Steve, who gives him a hurried salute in greeting before he is forced to put up his shield once again to prevent himself from getting shot in the face with a laser beam. 

“I am here, my friends,” Thor begins, turning swiftly before he can finish his sentence to thrust his hammer into a group of oncoming Doombots, sending them flying into the air. 

“I think the twenty bots that just got tossed like tiny, metallic pizzas was kind of telling,” Iron Man remarks sarcastically as he makes quick work of send bots with a few repulsor blasts. 

“Also the lightening and the thunder. I think Thor just out-entranced you, Iron Man,” Hawkeye retorts through the comms.

Steve sighs in exasperation, though he can’t help but think fondly of his ridiculous teammates. “Alright, guys. Thor, can we shut this thing down please? I would very much like to cap this and go home.”

“Ha! Cap wants to “cap” this, get it guys? Hilarious.” Hawkeye says as he approaches them in a car that must have been abandoned during the evacuations put into effect earlier that night.

Everyone issues a collective sigh at his remark, not even bothering to come up with a response. Thor pushes a heavily chained Loki in front of the portal, and Steve finds himself wincing to himself as he recalls their last explosive battle that had taken place as a result of Loki’s manic meddling. As such, he had been sentenced to life in exile from Asgard, although Thor had brought him back to take care of the portal, because he technically still owed them for the mess he had made earlier.

The closing of the portal itself is fairly anticlimactic in comparison with the rest of the battle. Loki raises some sort of scepter and begins to chant and the edges of the glowing portal start to shrink. The mass of Doombots start to power down and collapse to the debris-covered ground, and Steve seriously feels bad for the people who would be in charge of cleaning up their mess. 

Thor bids them all a very good night and departs once again, presumably to return his brother back to wherever he’s been exiled to. The rest of them pile into the Helicarrier that awaits them, somehow managing to avoid the press, but perhaps only because it’s so late at night. They all slump on the benches inside, every one of them desperate to take off their masks, but unable to because none of their identities had been revealed yet due to SHIELD protocol. 

SHIELD director, Nick Fury takes one look at them through the holoscreen and decides they can have the debrief first thing tomorrow morning. Steve despairs, because he’d promised he’d spend the day with Peter, but he can’t exactly bring that up as a complaint. They arrive at SHIELD headquarters where they all go their own ways, some to retire to the available quarters upstairs, and others preparing for a second Helicarrier journey to go home.

Steve bids the team goodbye and heads towards the code-encrypted elevators that would lead him to his quarters. He was desperately in need of a shower before he could finally head back home to his son. 

~

Tony shifts restlessly in his car as he drives down the freeway after the Avengers’ brief stint in Manhattan earlier that night. Without fail, once the Helicarrier drops him off at his private hangar in Malibu, Tony gets rid of his suit and makes the drive back to his house so that no one, not even the most perceptive reporters or worse, paparazzi, could make the connection to Tony Stark and Iron Man.

Iron Man was probably the one good thing that had come out of his life, and he had no intention of letting the world know that he was really the man behind the mask. It would most definitely taint the wholesome, heroic image of Iron Man that the public had come up with, and Tony found that being anonymous could actually be enjoyable sometimes. Other than having to install better internal climate control into the suit, because it could really get hot in there, Tony didn’t have much of a problem not being known as Iron Man and remaining tied to the Avengers publicly by being their benefactor.

Drumming his fingers against the wheel, Tony flips through radio stations, hoping to find something that would get him out of his weird mood. He briefly listens to the drone of infomercials, advertising things like super-absorbent sponges or smoothie blenders that could puree absolutely anything so you wouldn’t have to chew a morsel, all announced in a most annoying chirpy voice. 

He listens to a popular station that’s playing the Top 40, but after hearing (and unfortunately recognizing) the opening bars to Wannabe, Tony decides he cannot subject himself to anymore Spice Girls until the sun has come up and he’s had at least three steaming cups of coffee.

Just as he’s given up all hope and accepted his fate of driving to the enthusiastic renditions of “tell me whatchu want, whatchu really really want,” he lands on a late night interview. He has high hopes for it, because the interviews that are on at two in the morning are usually the ones meant for truckers or insomniacs, and he finds out that he’s partially right when it’s revealed they are listening to an interview with relationship therapist, Dr. Fieldstone something-he-can’t-quite-catch.

“ -- And how does your husband’s indifference make you feel, love?” Tony hears the tail-end of what promises a very interesting conversation, so he cranks up the volume and listens attentively.

“I just feel horrible all the time, Martha. I often wonder if I’m enough, if I’ll ever be enough for him,” a tearful voice replies, and Tony fights the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Sweetheart, you have got to know that this isn’t your fault, okay? If that man cannot appreciate what’s right in front of him, then why do you gotta worry? You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, and you cannot let this man decide what’s to come of that,” is Dr. Fieldstone’s very vague but enthusiastic response to the woman’s lament. 

Tony shakes his head in amusement and only partially catches what the other woman says to that through a series of very loud and obnoxious sniffles. The show cuts to a commercial break and he tunes them out, wondering how bad life must get that you feel that the only solution to your troubles is calling into a late night radio interview with, essentially a “love doctor.” He thinks to himself that he isn’t really one to judge, when the break ends and Dr. Fieldstone is back on air.

“And next, we have a very special phone call from Peter Parker, a seven year old boy from Seattle,” the host says, her tone obviously coloured with ill-concealed surprise. Intrigued, Tony reaches forward to turn up the volume. 

“Hello, Peter. What seems to be the problem on this very late night for a young boy such as yourself,” comes the voice of Dr. Fieldstone.

“Well, it’s my Dad, actually,” the kid says, his voice hesitant but oddly determined. “I think he needs a new wife.” 

Tony snickers, leaning forward in his seat in his interest.

“You don’t like the one he has now?” The doctor asks, her voice carrying a distinct tone of amusement. 

The kids doesn’t even pause before he replies. “He doesn’t have one now. That’s the problem.”

“Where’s your mom, Peter?” She asks, and Tony wonders where this conversation started to derail.

“She died two years ago.”

Tony winces, feeling his heart break for the kid. He knows all too well what it was like to deal with losing parents, and though he hadn’t been quite so young when his own had died, he recalls quite clearly the effect it had had on majority of his adult life. And being left a multi-billion dollar company to run during that whole mess hadn’t exactly been an easy ride.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Peter,” Dr. Fieldstone continues, her voice laced with sympathy. “So you’re worried about him?”

“I’m worried about him and he’s worried about me and my uncle’s worried about the both of us,” the kid replies, and Tony has to laugh again at his response. “I bike to school and my dad follows me in his car like I don’t know he’s there. And now, he’s started a new job and everything and you know what happens--”

“People start calling crackpot doctors on the radio?” Tony wonders out loud, nearly missing the kid’s response.

“Does your father know about this, Peter?” The aforementioned doctor asks, and Tony is doubting that he was aware of this is happening if he was even half of a rational parent.

“No. He doesn’t like talking about it, because it just makes him sadder.”

“Would it help if I spoke with him directly?”  
T  
The kid scoffs. “Are you kidding? He thinks shows like this are super dumb. I can only get away with this because he isn’t home from work yet,” there’s a pause where it sounds like the kid left the phone and the host attempts to call him back. The kid picks up the phone again a minute later, fumbling with the device before he speaks again. “He just got back.”

“I think I can help him if I can talk to him directly, Peter. I’m sure he wouldn’t be angry at you if he knew how concerned you were,” Dr. Fieldstone suggests, clearly attempting to prolonging the episode so they can milk the most out of this for the show.

The kid seems to hesitate but agrees after another pause. Tony can hear the sound of him running through the house, apparently looking for his father.

“Dad, it’s for you,” he says faintly, the phone too far away to pick up his voice clearly. “His name is Steve,” Peter whispers one last time to the viewers before the the phone is handed to his father.

“Hello? Who’s this?” The man asks, his voice just veering on the edge of being too loud. “I’m not interested in purchasing whatever you’re selling, but thanks anyway.”

Tony snickers, shaking his head in disbelief and wondering just how far this woman was willing to go with this poor man. He leans forward against the steering wheel, keeping an eye on the road and an ear glued to the interesting proceedings happening on air.

The doctor laughs. “Hello, Steve. We’re from Network America. Your son called us for advice on how to find you a new wife.”

The man is silent for a moment before sighing, as if he wasn’t expecting this but isn’t very surprised about it either. 

“Jesus, are we on air? Peter, why--you’re supposed to be in bed, for God’s sake,” the man scolds, just barely in the phone’s reception.

“Your son feels that you’ve been very unhappy since your wife’s death, Steve.”

“Who’s this again?” 

“Maybe if we talk about it, your son would feel better about this. He seems very worried about you, Steve.” The doctor is saying when Tony starts paying attention again. He rolls his eyes, imagining what exactly would happen to this “doctor” if the man decided to do something about the insane violation of his privacy that this was.

The man eventually agrees reluctantly and Tony scoffs, and though he’s completely aware of the fact that he can merely turn it off and move on with his life, he feels too invested in the story to leave it behind so abruptly.

“So, how long has it been since your wife died, Steve?” Dr. Fieldstone asks, her voice laced with an exaggerated sense of gentile that was a common quality of all therapists it seemed.

“Almost two years,” the man, Steve, replies hesitantly.

“And have you been in any sort of romantic relationship since then?”

Steve sighs into the phone and Tony winces in his car, almost feeling the other man’s discomfort from the other side of the country. 

“I don’t mean to be rude, ma’am, but--”

“And I don’t mean to be rude, Steve--”

Tony shakes his head in disbelief. “Sure you do.”

“Sure you do,” Steve replies at the same time, making Tony smile to himself. Maybe this guy would actually hold up on his own.

“Look, Doctor….” 

“Doctor Martha Fieldstone,” she replies, apparently opting to be helpful for the first time during the entire exchange.

“Look, Doctor Fieldstone, I admit we did have a tough time of it at first, but I think we’re getting the hang of this, Peter and I. And I like to think I’m doing an okay job being a dad despite it all,” Steve says heartfully, causing Tony to feel immensely sympathetic for the man. If only his own father had been half the man this Steve clearly was, maybe he’d be doing a lot better for himself today.

“I’m sure you are, Steve,” Dr. Fieldstone replies, interrupting Tony’s train of maudlin thoughts. “Wouldn’t it help to talk about it though? From what Peter has told me, I think there’s a cloud of emotion that you’re refusing to address. Your son is really worried about you, Steve.”

Tony hears Steve sigh again, obviously reluctant to remain discussing his life story to this quack and to half the world listening in. 

“Perhaps you need someone in your life just as much as Peter does,” the doctor suggests softly when Steve doesn’t offer any more of his own thoughts. 

“Yes,” Tony blurts out into the silence of his car, immediately clapping one hand over his mouth as soon as the word escapes his mouth. That’s what you got for listening to crappy late night interviews with self-acclaimed “love experts”; you start losing your damn mind.

“Do you think you could ever love someone else as much as you loved your wife?” Doctor Martha asks, prodding Steve to offer an interesting response.

“It’s hard for me to imagine.”

“Do you miss her Steve?” 

Tony rolls his eyes. Why else would they all be listening to this crap show if not for that sole reason?

“Everyday, doc. I don’t know, when I met her….when I touched her, it was like--”

“Magic,” Tony and Steve say simultaneously, to Tony’s surprise. 

“I don’t know how to describe it. It wasn’t exactly one thing, it was more of a….feeling. And I knew right then, that she was the one for me.”

Tony finds himself feeling entirely entranced by the man’s words, and is shaken when the doctor interrupts them with an announcement of wrapping up the show for the night.

The host returns, letting the listeners know what number to call to share their thoughts about the man, who they have dubbed “Sleepless in Seattle.” Annoyed at the show and himself, Tony switches off the radio, nearly missing his exit in the process. 

He drives off the ramp, finding himself unable to get rid of the strange feeling in his stomach about the oddly familiar voice of “Sleepless in Seattle” and his son.

The next morning, Tony finds himself stuck in three back to back meetings that his ever-so frighteningly competent assistant forces him to attend. He nearly falls asleep during two and a half of them, but by some godly miracle, Pepper glares at him enough to keep him awake for the duration of all of them. Why do all of these stuffy old men think that grey-scale graphs would be the way to win them over? Would it really pain them to add just a splash of colour for the benefit of their long-suffering boss?

When he’s finally situated in his office for his well-deserved lunch break, Tony munches on the cheddar bacon sandwich one of the interns had gotten him, pretending to be working on the large pile of paperwork with a bright pink sticky note on top labelled, “THESE BETTER BE SIGNED, TONY” with five exclamation points.

He’s just licking off the crumbs stuck to his fingers and making a very minimal effort to look around for a napkin to wipe his hands off instead of his Armani pants, when a very harried Pepper Potts struts into his office. She’s carrying a stack of files, Tony notices with mild alarm, and her heels are at the very least six inches tall, he bets. Worst of all, she looks like she’s five seconds away from straight up murdering him. Or the next unfortunate soul she sets her eyes on. Which would happen to be Tony.

“Hey, Pep, I was just working on these,” Tony waffles, grabbing for a pen and ending up grabbing a decorative twig instead (why??). “By the way, have I mentioned you look stunning today? Because you do. Of course you do, you always look stunning. Also, are those new Jimmy Choos, because I’ve never seen them before and you could definitely kill a man with those heels if you wanted to,” Tony says, leaning back in his office chair as far as he could go as Pepper nears his desk and doesn’t show any sign of slowing down.

“Why yes, Tony, they are new, thanks for noticing,” Pepper replies smoothly, her voice oozing with an exaggerated pleasantness that makes Tony want to run and hide. “No thanks to you, I’m not going to get to go home until all these are signed, which probably won’t happen for the next few hours,” she says, a muscle in her jaw jumping as she glares at him.

Tony winces bodily, setting a placating hand on top of the stack. “I’ll do them now, Pep. I swear. I just, I got caught up in the workshop, you know how it gets. I’ll stay late if I have to, but I will get them done.”

Pepper narrows her eyes in suspicion before shaking her head at him, her red ponytail swinging as she finally cracks and moves the offending stack of files over a bit so she can perch at the edge of Tony’s desk. She sets down her own papers and toes off her heels, crossing one leg over the other. 

“Gimme,” Pepper says, making grabby hands at the paper Starbucks bag with another sandwich inside of it. Tony hands it to her, watching as she pries open the wrapping and digs in. 

“Want to know what I heard from Karen in Accounting and Jonah in Marketing when I was in the break room?” She asks with her mouth full of sandwich, daintily brushing off the crumbs that fall onto her skirt.

“Always.”

“Apparently there was this man on the radio last night, kind of a crazy love therapist type show, the kind you’d probably hate,” Pepper adds with a playful smirk. “His son called in to ask about finding the father a new wife, but the man himself had caught on and started talking with the doctor. The girls practically swooned when they talked about him, even Matt was in on it, can you believe it, Tony?” Pepper remarks with mild shock, referring to her own very stoic personal assistant. 

Tony inhales slowly, his lips stretching wide in a very put upon smile as his heart races within him for some very odd reason. “Oh yeah? That’s so unlike Matt,” he says in what he hopes is a casual way. “What’s the big deal with this Sleepless in Seattle guy anyway?”

Pepper immediately turns to him with raised eyebrows and Tony flushes under her gaze. “How did you know that’s what they called him?”

Tony waves his hand dismissively, quickly averting his gaze. “Oh, you know. Word got around,” he mutters, hoping she’d move on from him.

“The whole thing’s been blowing up all morning. People are writing to him, can you believe that?” She gesticulates, throwing her hands up in the air. Pepper waits for a response from him, but Tony keeps his gaze resolutely fixed on the polished mahogany of his desk. 

Tony shrugs, putting on his facade of nonchalance while his fingers drum on the table top. “Yeah, sounds pretty crazy. You know how it is though. It’ll probably blow over in a few days.”

Pepper shakes her head at him, clearly not falling for the ruse. “Yeah, sure Tony. By the way, I think Obadiah’s dealing our weapons under the table,” she says, her eyes on the remnants of her sandwich as she pops the last bit into her mouth.

Tony startles, all thoughts of Sleepless in Seattle completely fleeing from his mind as he struggles to process this new information. “Maybe you should’ve started with that.”

“I went through the encrypted files on his computer like you told me to,” Pepper says, and when she finally looks at him, her gaze has softened with sympathy that Tony hates on sight. “I found invoices dated just after your press announcement to shut down weapons manufacturing at Stark Industries. They’re legitimate, Tony.”

Tony purses his lips, a trembling hand settling over the dim blue glow of the arc reactor set into the hold carved that had been carved into his chest. “I have to stop him.”

Pepper places her hand over his, weaving their fingers together in a gesture of comfort. “I know you will.”

~  
Steve stands in front of the pantry, staring at the five bottles of Nutella he has somehow acquired, and the two more in his hands. 

“Peter,” he mutters under his breath, heaving a deep sigh before accepting his hazelnut chocolate spread filled fate and somehow managing to shove the two new bottles of Nutella in with their kin. He turns to the three large brown paper bags on the kitchen counter, two filled to the brim with actual food and one dedicated to Peter’s various sugary cereals, snacks, and Lunchables.

Steve places his hands on his hips and turns to face his son, who is perched contently on one of the bar stools at the kitchen island and sorting through a large stack of mail that the mailman had dropped off at their house earlier that morning with a curious look. Peter has a pair of scissors on the island in front of him to assist in breaking into the sealed envelopes, and he’s completely oblivious to Steve’s struggle as he sits with his socked feet kicking out every now and then.

“Would it be too much for me to ask for some help with the groceries?” Steve asks, already knowing what the answer’s going to be.

“Yes,” comes the reply. Peter seems to be very focused on reading a particularly long letter, no doubt addressed to Steve after the ill-advised exchange he’d had on a radio show. 

Steve turns back to the groceries, this time taking out a box of Froot Loops and a family size box of Lucky Charms. Shaking his head, he places them on the very top shelf of the pantry.

“How many of those do you think we got?” He asks, taking a glance at Peter, who seems to have discarded the letter and has moved onto another one.

“A lot.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but the corners of his lips are tugged up against his will into a small smile. He nods at the stack of letters again. “How many people listened to that anyway?”

Peter finally looks up at him, a very serious look in his eyes. “It airs in fifty states, Dad.”

Steve nearly drops the whole turkey he’s got cradled in his arms. “What?”

“Not everyone listens to it. And besides, no one’s going to know it was us.”

“Yeah, you better hope so,” Steve murmurs, still half in shock at the possibility that quite literally the entire country could have heard his sob story. He finishes safely transporting the turkey into the freezer when the doorbell rings three times in quick succession. Before Peter can scramble off his stool to get the door, Steve is already striding towards it.

“No answering the door by yourself, Pete, unless we’re expecting anybody, remember?” Steve chastises as he and Peter reach the door together. He pulls it open, expecting more mail, only to reveal Bucky on the other side.

“Uncle Bucky!” Peter shouts with glee, bounding past Steve to be lifted into a bear hug by Bucky. Smiling his own greeting, Steve pulls open the door wider to let his friend pass by.

“Hey, kiddo. What’ve you been up to?” Bucky asks, following Peter into the kitchen as he starts chattering about all the mail they’ve got and how he’s been helping Steve sort them out.

Later, when Peter’s resettled at his spot at the kitchen island with his pile of letters, Bucky hangs around near Steve, helping him put away the groceries.

“So, heard you’re famous now. You’re all the rage now, bud. Everyone’s been going on about ‘Sleepless in Seattle,’” Bucky says, his eyes studying Steve carefully.

He looks up sharply, his eyebrows drawn in a suspicious frown. “How did you know about that?”

Bucky scoffs, shaking his head before reaching past Steve to place a package of macaroni into the pantry. “How do I know? The question you should be asking is who doesn’t know, Steve,” he says, casting a quick glance at Peter. “At least, everyone in this town knows it’s you. And I could recognize your voice anywhere, Steve, who do you take me for?”

“You listened to that?” Steve asks incredulously, very deliberately choosing not to think about the fact that the entire town knew it was him on the radio. 

Bucky scoffs again. “Of course I didn’t. Gail was, and she called me over as soon as she recognized Peter’s voice,” he explains.

Steve sighs, feeling his face heat up with a flush. “Is that why you’re here? To tell me how stupid that was? Because trust me, I know how stupid that was.”

“Nah, ‘course not. I was just thinking that since you’re on the make again--”

“Buck, no--”

Bucky stops him by putting up a hand. “I’m just saying. You’re the one who said so yourself that you’re lonely,” he points out unhelpfully. “It’s been two years, Steve. Maybe you should think of moving on.”

Steve stops systematically placing various items of food into the pantry and looks over at Peter. Bucky did have a point. He can’t exactly be in mourning forever, and Peter wasn’t going to be a kid forever. 

“I don’t know if I’m ready, Buck,” Steve admits quietly, staring down at his hands and feeling a little lost. He turns when he feels his friend’s large hand on his shoulder in support.

“I think when you find the right person, you will be.”

“Need a ride, Captain?”

“Always, Shellhead.”

An urgent mechanical beeping sound fills the kitchen, startling Steve out of his reverie. He glances down at his Stark Industries manufactured Avengers Identicard, which alerts him of another situation in Manhattan. He quickly shoves it back into his pocket, away from Bucky’s suspicious eyes.

“I’ve got to run. There’s a situation at work,” Steve offers as explanation. “Mind watching Peter for a few hours?” He asks Bucky, silently pleading with him not to ask questions that Steve wouldn’t be able to answer.

“Yeah, of course. Make sure you don’t forget about us, Steve.” Bucky says as Steve rushes over to say a quick goodbye to Peter before he has to take off. Steve winces at the remark, silently promising himself that he’d explain everything to Bucky as soon as he got back, a vow he’s been making to himself ever since his first gig as Captain America after Peggy had died. 

He arrives on scene less than fifteen minutes later, the Helicarrier blasting away at supersonic speeds to get him there as fast as possible. It’s utter chaos when Steve arrives, fully suited up and shield grasped tightly in his hand.

All of the Avengers had been called in by the looks of it. The Wasp has grown to be the size of a three-storey building, and she along with Iron Man are working steadily to disarm….giant Iron Man? Steve hurries toward them activating his comm link as he approaches the fight.

“What’s the situation?” He asks no one in particular, making eye contact with the Scarlet Witch, who thrusts her hands at him and then above, red tendrils of magic propelling him up. 

“This isn’t me, Cap,” Iron Man says, his voice breathless as he leans away from the larger suit’s clumsy swinging gauntleted arms. “Tech’s not as developed so a lot of it isn’t working the way it’s supposed to, which makes this easier and harder for us.”

Steve leaps up onto the flailing elbow of the suit, aiming to strike the neck with his shield, hoping that it would be a weak spot. “Well, you probably know more about this that the rest of us, Iron Man. How do we take him down?” He flings his shield out, but it merely bounces off the metal producing a shower of sparks before Steve manages to snatch it out of the air. The giant suit shifts as the man inside notices Steve trying to keep his balance on top of it. 

“The calves should be the weakest areas. There’s a glitch in the coding for the boots as well, and I didn’t manage to fix it until the Mark forty-seven and this guy could not have had access to that.” Iron Man replies.

“I’m going to try to slip in,” the Wasp informs them, and Steve catches her shrinking down before she zips away, presumably to find a way to get inside the armour.

“That’s what she said,” Iron Man mutters in response, and Steve thinks its Hawkeye he hears bark out a hoarse laugh at the sad attempt at a joke.

“No, I think you mean that’s what he said,” Steve suggests, sliding off the arm of the suit and landing on the ground, just barely avoiding being squished into a Cap pancake by a gigantic hovering boot.

“No, no. I meant what I said, Cap,” Iron Man says cheekily, zooming right over Steve’s head.

Steve finds himself grinning wide despite the urgent nature of the situation, looking up to catch Iron Man waggle is metal fingers in a silly wave.

“Quit flirting, you two. Figure out how to stop this thing, then we can do the whole kissing in the tree schtick,” Black Widow manages to gets out in between weaving through the giant suit’s legs and wrapping an EMP bomb around it.

“Copy that,” Steve mutters, taking the rest of the cord from Widow and trying to find a foothold on the suit to get another EMP further up on the metallic limbs.

The comm line falls silent except for the sound of metal clanging as the Avengers work together to neutralize the threat. Widow activates the EMP which doesn’t seem to have an effect on the suit’s tech. 

The mid-afternoon sun that has been beating at Steve’s uniformed back for the entirety of the battle suddenly disappears behind a cloud of darkness. He looks away from the fight briefly, watching in awe as the bright lines of lightning form cracks in the sudden black skies. Thunder claps thrice, signalling the imminent arrival of Thor, and Steve can hear everyone heave a deep sigh of relief.

The Norse god lands at the giant’s feet, directing the lightning blast being channeled through his hammer into the suit’s large, protruding arc reactor. The giant immediately stops, arms and legs suspended as the electricity courses through in punctuating waves. When Thor lets go, the giant tumbles to the ground sending the Avengers scrambling it get out of its way.

Iron Man flies over hesitantly to where the suit has collapsed onto the ground, its metallic limbs trembling with aftershocks from the lightning. He reaches out with one gauntlet, reaching behind the giant armour’s head and triggering what must be an emergency release. The helmet shifts back to reveal a man’s face, one that Steve doesn’t recognize, but Iron Man clearly does. He reels back as if in shock, falling back to the ground with a painful metallic clang. 

Steve rushes forward, leaving behind the other Avengers who have occupied themselves with rescuing any remaining civilians who might have been caught in the crossfire. He kneels down carefully next to Iron Man, who remains seated on the ground, his armoured face revealing nothing.

“Iron Man, can you hear me?” Steve says quietly, opening up a private comm link between them.

Iron Man raises one gauntlet to his helmet, as if to remove it, but then shifts away again, his arm dropping back down to rest by his side. He turns to face Steve, and the eerie expression of the Iron Man helmet which Steve had once found unsettling renders him with an odd sense of relief, amongst another feeling Steve cannot quite pinpoint.

“I know him,” is all Iron Man says, his voice cracking on the last syllable. “Guess I didn’t really.”

Steve settles next to him on the debris covered ground, fiddling with his leather gloves. “Do we really know anybody?”

Iron Man turns to him. “No, I don’t think we do.”

~

“One last golden egg….this is your legacy, Tony….legacy….”

Tony jolts awake, his hands scrambling for his sheets. He swallows hard as his eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, trying to shake away the remnants of the dream. It was Obadiah again. He’d paralyzed Tony, ripped the arc reactor right out of his chest and walked away. It wasn’t real, he tells himself again, jerkily leaning over to manually turn on his lamp. 

After the fight with Obadiah and his poorly engineered suit, Tony had been harassed with the recurring nightmare of his longtime mentor forcibly removing the one thing that Tony needed in order to survive right in front of him. Of course, this wasn’t how he had actually acquired the reactor. Obadiah had merely broken into Tony’s lab and found one of the earlier versions of his reactor that he had used in his own suit with poor results.

Obadiah’s betrayal had been one that Tony had not expected. After Pepper had warned him about Obadiah’s secret weapons dealings, Tony had looked into them and tried to stop him. When all else had failed, Tony had flown to the ravaged town of Gulmira where his own weapons were being used to kill thousands of innocent civilians. None of whom had ever asked to be in such a position. Tony had destroyed all of his weapons before he returned to the States, and Obadiah had evidently not been pleased with the turn of events.

Although, Tony was starting to think Obadiah may have been in on it for far longer than he had suspected. Through the encrypted files himself and Pepper had investigated, Tony was starting to think Obadiah might have been the one to have him abducted the first time during his demo in Afghanistan. 

He often finds himself thinking back to a conversation he had had with Captain America, after their fight with Obie had ended. Tony never really knew Obadiah at all, did he? The betrayal stung more than he’d have liked, and Tony hadn’t had a solid night’s sleep in a week. 

Climbing out of bed, he grabs a robe hanging off the back of a chair and slips it around himself. Tony heads out of his bedroom, deciding that since he was already up, he might as well get some work done. He makes himself some coffee and while he waits for the machine to finish brewing his drink, Tony casts a wary glance around his bleak penthouse. It’s perfectly spotless with curtainless windows with a view of the beautiful Manhattan skyline. The untouched cushions are arranged on his sofa in an aesthetically pleasing manner, with their orange and blue asymmetrical triangle patterns daring anyone to sit on them. Framed artwork covers every inch of the walls, all purchased by Pepper of course. Tony couldn’t name a single piece if he was held at gunpoint.

Looking around at his home that doesn’t feel like a home, Tony feels a sharp pang in his chest. The man he had trusted for most of his adult life after his parents’ death had been hungering for his own death all along. Tony had spent his life thinking he was making weapons for his country, when in reality he had been sentencing an innocent child to death with every dollar he was making for himself.

Self-loathing curls at the pit of his stomach and he abruptly turns toward his coffee, terrified of what else he was capable of doing.

Tony grabs his drink and steps into the awaiting elevator, keying in his code that would allow him entrance into his workshop at the basement of the building. He lifts his mug up to his lips, swallowing the burning coffee even as it bruises his esophagus painfully as it goes down. 

When he arrives, his bots wheel toward him eagerly, probably itching for attention. A smile tugs at the corner of Tony’s lips as DUM-E inches towards him with its claw reaching out. Tony lifts a hand to rub the metallic frame of the ill-formed robot.

“Hey there, bud,” he says, holding his coffee close to his chest so DUM-E can’t knock it over onto himself. “You don’t think I’m a monster, do you?” The robot whirs at his words, eager at recognizing sounds rather than understanding a syllable of what Tony is saying.

“You’re too dumb to care anyway. I appreciate that,” Tony murmurs softly as he moves to his worktable. He places his coffee down on the surface of the table, shoving his tech away just in case he accidentally knocked it over onto his work.

“JARVIS, turn on the radio for me?” Tony requests the AI, settling onto his stool and pulling up a holoscreen displaying an old schematic he’d been working on.

“Of course, sir.”

Tony returns to the screen, fingers poking and prodding at the rotating digital blueprint as he looks for things he can make better. When he tunes out again, he hears the soft, familiar voice of Dr. Crackpot through the speakers. He frowns and returns his attention to his AI.

“JARVIS, what the hell is this?” 

“The radio, sir. Your most listened to station in the last two weeks, by my records.” Comes JARVIS’ reply. Tony grimaces to himself, thinking back to the last few times he’d been down in the workshop to get some work done. Apparently, he’d been subconsciously tuning into late night radio for loners, and he couldn’t tell if that was worse or better than actively tuning in.

“Turn it off, J. I want silence.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Tony attempts to return his attention to his schematic, but his thoughts don’t seem to have gotten the memo. His mind takes him back to that night on the freeway, listening to the man who had lost so much, who refused to let it impact his ability to be a good father to his child. 

“When I saw her….when I touched her….it was like….magic….”

Tony takes a deep breath, dropping his head to his hands and squeezing his eyes shut. He can’t be thinking about a widower, a single father, who’s probably been bombarded with mail and calls from rabid women in the past few weeks. He’s losing his mind. He closes his eyes and hears Steve’s voice again like he’s sitting right next to him.

When he opens his eyes, they fall on a stained piece of lined paper with a pen hanging around conveniently. Tony groans quietly, rubbing his eyes against the heel of his palm as he fights through his impulse and the exhaustion fueling it. It doesn’t take very much for him to think fuck it and straighten up to grab the offending piece of paper, draining the rest of his now cold coffee before putting pen to paper.

~

Peter rips open another envelope and according to the tally chart he’s made, this is the thirty-seventh letter of today. He’s expecting another one of the “I can make you happy, I can be the mother/father your child needs, yada yada” ones that Peter is quickly getting tired of. He saves the really good ones to show his dad later, but there aren’t a lot of them that stand out to him….in a good way.

Sighing, he smooths out the creases in the stained piece of paper, and lays it out in front of him, starting to read with his pointer finger following each hastily scrawled word.

Hey Sleepless and Son,

I bet you get a lot of these. This is probably guaranteed a one-way ticket to your trash can, but maybe I’m doing this more for my benefit than yours. Look, I’m not the type to be listening to late-night radio shows, especially not ones run by Dr. Crackpot. I think I’ve started to lose my mind, ever since I heard you and your son. I want to meet you on top of the Empire State Building on Valentine’s Day. Which is in two days, my AI tells me…..

“Dad! You have to read this one,” Peter cries out, scrambling down from the couch and hurrying over to his dad, waving the letter in the air.

His dad looks up from the bowl of cookie batter he’s been mixing, his brows creased in a confused frown. “What is it, Peter? You okay?”

Peter jumps up, grinning widely and makes his way around to his dad, shoving the piece of paper in his face. “You’ve gotta read this, Dad. It’s from someone named Tony and he talks about the Dodgers, which means he’s probably real cool and you’d like him,” Peter insists, shaking the letter impatiently until his father wipes off his hands on a towel and takes the paper from him. He watches as his dad’s eyes scan the letter, even chuckling at some parts.

“I have to admit, this man does seem interesting,” Steve says, handing the letter back to Peter. “But lots of people like the Dodgers, Pete. It’s not just us, you know. Your Uncle Buck loves the Dodgers, that doesn’t mean I’d fall in love with him.”

Peter makes a face at the suggestion, clutching the letter to his chest. “Yuck, no, Dad! But we should go. What if Tony is the one,” he breathes, excited at the mere possibility.

His dad smiles down at him with a sad but very determined look in his eyes, and Peter instantly knows he’s not getting his way this time. “Pete, we can’t just up at go to New York, because of someone who likes the Dodgers, who is also a stranger. Besides, you’ve got school now. We can’t just leave, bud.”

Peter pouts up at him, but nods anyway, slinking between his father’s legs to grab a bite at the cookie dough instead. He realizes he’s going to have to come up with a stronger argument if he’s going to actually convince his dad to meet Tony on top of the Empire State building tomorrow. 

~

“Be good, Pete. I’m so sorry about this, you know I am, but I swear I’ll be back tonight for dinner.” Dad promises as he shuffles Peter into his new friend, MJ’s house. His card thing had started beeping at him again and his father had gotten a call from someone super secret and super important soon after. And now, Peter was being shipped off to MJ’s house until his dad finished with work, which he wasn’t entirely unhappy about. Maybe he could tell her about the letter from Tony.

Peter waves goodbye to his father and follows MJ further into the house, listening to the low sounds of his dad hurriedly talking to MJ’s mom about emergency contacts and other important things. MJ flops down next to the low coffee table with a bowl of half-finished popcorn and shoves her hand inside to grab at some. There’s a movie that’s been paused on the TV, probably when MJ and her mom had gotten up to let Peter and his dad in.

When his dad finally leaves, MJ’s mom refills their popcorn and goes into the kitchen to make chili, she tells them. Peter is invited to stay for dinner, and he says yes even though his dad promised to come back for dinner, because MJ’s mom made the best chili.

When Peter is finally alone with MJ, she brings out her deck of cards with 3-D pictures of spiders on the back that Peter really loves. They decide on “Go Fish” and while MJ is dealing out their cards, Peter fidgets with the folded piece of paper in the pocket of his sweater - the letter from Tony. 

“Hey, MJ,” he says, picking up his cards and carefully peering at them.

“What? You better not be tryin’ to cheat, Pete, ‘cause I can tell,” she tells him, giving him a stern look from over her cards.

Peter rolls his eyes. “I’m not trying to cheat, I’m not stupid, MJ. But I have to tell you something.”

This seems to catch her attention. MJ pauses in organizing her cards and leans forward in interest, her brows drawn to the centre of her forehead. “Is it a secret?” She asks, her voice lowered to a precarious whisper.

“No, well, I don’t know. You know how my dad’s kinda famous now, because of the radio lady?” At MJ’s nod of confirmation, Peter explains further. “Well, we’ve been getting a lot of letters from people who want to marry my dad, right? But there’s this one that I read, and I’ve read all of them. This one though, the guy, Tony, talked about the Dodgers, which me and Dad also love. He wants to meet us at the Empire State building at sunset, MJ,” Peter says, his voice lifting at the end of his sentence.

MJ raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Tomorrow? That’s Valentine’s Day.”

“Exactly!”

“But what’s the problem, then? Aren’t you and your dad gonna go?” MJ asks curiously.

“My dad thinks it’s ridiculous to go all the way to New York to meet a stranger,” Peter laments, fingering the corner of his cards anxiously.

“But what if this guy is the one? What if he’s supposed to be your other dad, but you’ll never know because your real dad isn’t going to meet him?” MJ speculates.

“Exactly what I said! I can’t get him to go and now it’s too late, because he’s at work and he won’t get back until tonight. Then we’ll never go,” he whines, upset at the thought that he might never have another parent and his dad would be sad and lonely forever because they aren’t going to New York.

“What if you went by yourself? And then your dad has to come looking for you, right? So, you could get to the Empire State and your dad will come find you and he’ll meet Tony,” MJ suggests tentatively.

Peter thinks about this. “I can’t go alone, MJ. How am I supposed to get there?”

MJ grins at him, her smile almost wicked. “I’ve run away from home tons of times. I can tell you what to do.”

So, twenty minutes later, Peter finds himself in Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, cradling MJ’s large pink piggy bank with change that he used to pay the cab driver and wearing an old Dora backpack with a bottle of water. He feels more than a little overwhelmed staring up at the tall, arching ceilings and the people walking fast to get wherever they need to go. 

But then he thinks about how sad his dad looks all the time and he tells himself that the solution lies just one plane ride away. If he can do this, his dad could be happy again. So Peter walks up to a security guard and pokes at his elbow.

“Excuse me, sir,” he says, making his voice sound plaintive. “I’m supposed to be on the plane to New York City right now, but I can’t find my dad.” He pushes his bottom lip out in a magnificent pout and relishes in the moment the guard takes pity on him and offers Peter his hand. 

“Hey, of course, bud. What’s your name? I can take you right to your old man, no problemo.”

“My name’s Peter,” he sniffs, laying it on thick.

The security guard leads him to the gate and explains to the flight attendants waiting for people to show them their tickets that Peter got lost. They coo at him and let him in, and Peter smiles wide and thanks all three of them, just like his dad taught him to do.

Peter runs down the walkway and finds an empty seat beside another kid sitting with her mom. He settles in, and when he can’t figure out how to buckle his seatbelt, the mom reaches over to help him. Peter decides travelling by himself is quite fun. He watches the free movies on the little TV attached to the seat in front of him, all the while keeping one hand firmly inside of his pocket where Tony’s letter rested. 

~

“What do you mean, he was taken?” Steve barks into the phone as the Helicarrier touches down at the landing pad of Stark Mansion. “Where’s Iron Man?”

“Cap, we’re just as baffled as you are,” Widow speaks to him calmly from the other end. “Tony Stark was last seen in a cab possibly heading to Stark Tower for a Board Members meeting, according to Pepper Potts, his personal assistant, but he never arrived there. He plotted his destination via his AI, JARVIS, but all communications and tracking systems that we tried have failed. We’re thinking this is the work of one of his rival tech companies, namely Hammer Tech, who has engaged in violence against Stark in the past.”

“Where do you need me?” Steve asks, pulling his cowl down over his face as he walks out of the aircraft and into the Mansion. 

“We’re trying to locate him using the satellite locating systems installed at the Mansion,” Widow informs him. Steve can hear her fingers tapping away at what is presumably a keyboard in the background of the call. “Hold on, I think we’ve got something.”

Steve hurried his pace as he approaches the elevator that would lead him down to the operation centre in the basement of Stark Mansion. “What is it, Widow? I’ve lost you.”

A beat. “Captain, Stark has an Avengers Identicard on him.”

Steve comes to an abrupt halt. “What?”

“Whoever abducted him must not have realized that he was the Avengers’ benefactor, and so they forgot to get rid of his Identicard. We can track him using that.”

It made sense for Tony to have his own Identicard. Being known as the Avengers’ benefactor couldn’t bode particularly well for an infamous genius billionaire, and though Iron Man was Stark’s bodyguard, it was probably a good idea that Stark had his own Card. It certainly was going to help him in this particular situation.

Steve arrives at the basement of the Mansion, mentally pausing to take in the frantic flurry of activity around him. It seemed as if the entirety of SHIELD was down here, various agents glued to holoscreens as others barked into small hand-held devices. What usually is an empty, dimly lit room has now turned into a scene from a spy movie, with bright, blue screens lighting up every corner and everyone in the room wearing some form of skin tight, black attire. 

He spots the Black Widow over at the far end of the room, her hands flying over the keyboard in front of her as she gives curt instructions out of the corner of her mouth to a younger agent at her shoulder. He makes his way over, making sure his cowl is secure over his face as his presence starts drawing more attention than he would have liked.

“Captain, here. Where do you need me, Widow?” He asks when the Widow is within earshot. She turns to him, black mask exposing only her beady, blue eyes.

“Take this. SHIELD escort will take you to where Stark’s Identicard has been tracked. I’ll be instructing you through the comm, so you better not lose it, Captain.” She tells him, handing him a small, flesh-coloured device Steve would have to stick in his ear to keep contact with HQ.

“We have Hawkeye and the Wasp heading to the scene for backup, but I think you’re going to want to be the one to take these guys out,” Widow explains, her mouth setting in a grim line. “It seems to be an anti-super group. Probably figured it’d be too much trouble trying to abduct an actual superhero, so they took the next best thing.”

Steve sets his jaw, fists clenching by his sides as he takes in the new information. The thought of Stark going through God knew what, alone and defenseless, made Steve’s stomach lurch uncomfortably. 

“I’ll get him back,” he promises, stalking back towards the elevator without waiting for Widow’s response.

~

“Get your ass back here, Captain,” Fury snarls through the line. Steve thinks it’s a little too late for that.

“All due respect sir, no. We’re in position waiting for Widow’s call. Returning now would be futile,” Steve explains, his voice a murmur as he signals to Hawkeye who is crouched up on the roof of the two-storey building behind him.

“I want you back here now, Captain Rogers. This is a direct order.”

Steve ignores him, turning off his comm. He waits for Widow’s cue; an explosive arrow nearly nicking his ear as it flies past him and into the graffitied overhead door. Steve raises his shield against the plume of fire as it expands out towards him in the explosion. When it clears, he raises an arm, motioning the others forward. The Avengers storm inside, metaphorical guns ablaze.

The sight that awaits them is not one that Steve was expecting in the slightest. At the centre of the empty room, Tony Stark sits on a wooden chair, handcuff dangling off one wrist as he looks up at them in surprise. Five men of very large stature are writhing on the ground before him, their limbs tied up in very innovative positions. 

Stark watches them with a smug grin, self-satisfaction oozing out of his gaze. He uncrosses his legs and holds out his handcuffed wrist. “Is anyone going to help me out here? Hand’s getting a little sore, here.”

Steve hurries forward, swinging his shield onto his back as his feet bring him closer to Stark. The others have dispersed, making sure the kidnappers have been thoroughly neutralized and further assessing the situation to see if there were any more lingering around. Steve realizes he doesn’t have the key to unlock the cuffs when he gets to Stark’s side.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a bobby pin on you, Cap, would you?” Stark asks, still completely nonchalant except for the occasional wince that suggested there was quite a bit more behind the unbothered facade.

“Don’t need one,” Steve mutters, gripping the ends of the cuffs with both hands and prying the metal apart. It falls away from Stark’s wrist easily, and Steve drops it to the ground. He looks up to find Stark looking up at him with his eyes blown dark.

“What,” he asks, suddenly self-conscious. He reaches up to rub at his face, wondering if he’d gotten some soot on him during the explosion.

Stark seems to shake himself, his face relaxing into an easy grin once again. “Nothing, Cap. Just, took you long enough to get here.”

Steve’s face falls, guilt racking through his frame. “We tried to get here as soon as we got word--”

“I’m just messing with you,” Stark dismisses, shaking his head. His smile is more genuine when he looks up at Steve again. “Besides, I kind of had this covered.”

Steve looks around them where the five men who were clearly the ones behind Stark’s kidnapping are now being transported back to the Helicarrier that he can hear waiting outside. 

“Yeah, you definitely had this covered,” he nods emphatically, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “How’d you manage that anyway?” Steve asks, his curiosity finally getting the better of him as he fails at trying to figure out how Stark might’ve gotten out.

“Don’t ask, Cap. I’m not the kind of guy to kiss and tell,” Stark says, his eyes glinting mischievously. 

“Oh, I thought that was your specialty,” Steve retorts, his heart starting to race although he’s sure the adrenaline from the expected battle had already passed. Stark’s eyebrows shoot up as he stands, drawing himself up to his full height. 

“Guess you’re right,” Stark nearly purrs. “Maybe if you’re lucky, Captain, you’ll find out just how I got away from those goons.” 

“I’m a pretty lucky guy, Stark,” Steve murmurs. He’s not even sure whether they’re still talking about Stark’s unexpected escape from the anti-super gang, but he decides he’s okay with that. More than okay with it, actually.

“Boys!” 

Steve tears his gaze from Stark’s, his heart still beating frantically away underneath the uniform and his hands sweating in his leather gloves. The Wasp looks at them from the doorway they had blasted open just minutes earlier, a knowing glint in her eyes as she gestures outside.

“We’re done here. If you still wanted to join us, that is?”

Steve flushes, stepping away from Stark as if he was standing next to a ticking time bomb reading to go off any second. Stark doesn’t seem to be very bothered by this or the Wasp’s subtle insinuation if his wide grin is to say anything, but Steve catches him gazing at him thoughtfully as they exit the warehouse and board the waiting Helicarrier. 

Steve sits down at the cockpit, far enough away from Stark, but not so far that he was completely out of Steve’s sight either. As they prepare to take off, Steve finds his thoughts gravitating back to Tony Stark. What starts off as a genuine curiosity at how he managed to not only escape his captors but also leave them rendered useless, soon turns into an in depth analysation of their earlier exchange. 

Tony Stark has never been someone Steve has had frequent interactions with after he joined the Avengers. He had always been an intimidating enigma who Steve had somewhat disliked but still appreciated from afar, his gratitude towards the man extending to him being the benefactor of the team. Growing up in extreme poverty for much of his life had rendered him to be very cautious regarding the very rich, very famous, and very important, three categories which Stark would seamlessly fit into. Although, their earlier exchange had felt eerily similar to flirtation, and Steve wasn’t sure how he felt about that, still having reservations regarding letting someone new into his life.

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t really process the Wasp gently touching his shoulder to grab his attention, passing a SHIELD issued phone into his hand. He presses the device to his ear on muscle memory, half expecting Fury’s voice of disapproval to assault him and his surprised when the panicked voice of MJ’s mother greets him instead.

“Hello? Delphine, what’s going on? Is everything alright?” Steve asks, his thoughts from earlier completely pushed aside as worry plagues his mind instead.

“Steve? God, I’m so sorry. Peter’s gone.”

Steve’s heart turns to ice when he hears the words, not really comprehending them until someone calls his name.

“What do you mean, gone? How could he have just left?” He finally responds, ignoring the concerned glances from everyone in the Helicarrier.

“I swear he was just here with MJ, but when I came out to get them for dinner, he just wasn’t there. MJ tells me he’s gone to the airport. I’m so sorry, Steve, I should’ve been--”

Steve’s mind reels as it slowly dawns on him. “Did she say why the airport?”

“She said he was talking about going to New York. Something about the Empire State building?”

“Goddamnit, Peter,” he swears, unfastening his seatbelt and rising out of his chair. He shuts off the phone and tosses it down onto his seat.

“Go on without me. I’ve got to get to the Empire State building.”

~

“JARVIS, autopilot,” Tony mutters, watching the HUD of the suit flashing once before the suit remains airborne without him controlling it. “I’m too fucked up for this right now.”

“As you wish, sir,” comes the AI’s polite reply. The armour flies him in a circuit above the city, the thousands of twinkling lights down below making Tony feel a slight sense of vertigo as he looks down.

He knew when he got back there would be about a hundred and seventy four messages from Pepper demanding to know where he was, not to mentioned the disappointed emails from Fury no doubt chastising him for making the Avengers come after him when he could’ve escaped himself with the Iron Man armour. To be fair, Tony did make use of the armour to get away, but he hadn’t been able to get out of the warehouse before the Avengers came storming in all high and mighty. So, technically it was SHIELD’s fault in the first place for sending their shiniest to get him.

Tony swoops down low over the city, catching sight of pink lights strung up above restaurant tables and obnoxious heart shaped….things appearing wherever he looked. There were heart shaped candies, heart shaped balloons, a giant heart shaped flower arrangement over at Central Park that promised a spectacular tacky proposal fail, and a tiny dog wearing a sweater with tiny, red, smiling hearts all over it. God, Tony hated Valentine’s Day. As if they needed another excuse to further instill capitalism in the name of happiness and love. 

The suit weaves around Rockefeller Center, and Tony waves his fingers at a group of people out on the observation deck who point up at him excitedly. He flies past Times Square, doing another loop around the city, very pointedly ignoring the Empire State Building. 

He really hadn’t meant to send that letter. He’d been very sleep-deprived and running solely on copious amounts of caffeine, and although that was often the formula to some of his best creations being made, this time it had produced very unwanted results in the form of a fan letter to a man he had heard on the goddamn radio. By the time he had been clear-headed enough to realize what he’d done, it wasn’t as if he could hack his way out of it. For some god awful reason, Tired Tony had decided to write a letter of all things, despite being the CEO of one of the nation’s leading tech companies. And so, there he was. Confronted with the fact that he had asked a complete stranger to meet him at the top of the Empire State Building on Valentine’s Day. 

A part of him wanted to go. What was the worst that could happen, right? His pride was at war with that tiny, very irrational part of him that still believed in love and the absolute bullshit drilled into their minds, and Tony honestly was not sure which side was going to win this one.

He does one final loop around the city, this time heading towards the dreaded building he had been avoiding all night, telling himself that if no one is up there then he will head right back home, no waiting around, although he’s sure he’d probably end up breaking that promise to himself before the night is up.

Tony lands on top of the observation deck of the Empire State Building not stepping out of his armour, but giving it a cursory glance before powering up his repulsors to set off once again.

An elevator arrives at the deck with a chirpy ding, and Tony’s heart pounds in his chest. He curls his fingers inside of the armour, waiting anxiously for the doors to slide open.

“Dad, I think it’s on the other side,” the familiar voice of a kid says, pulling a large man outside of the elevator. Tony finds himself unable to move all of a sudden as the man looks up, his eyes widening in recognition.

“Iron Man? Doing some late night surveillance?” Captain America asks, the kid at his side falling silent as he stares up at Tony inside of the armour in shock. 

Tony’s mind races as he tries to piece everything together. The Captain taking off abruptly after someone called about his kid, the letter, and the meeting place. The kid lets go of his father’s hand, taking a step closer to Tony when he doesn’t respond.

“Are you Tony Stark?” Peter asks, his voice as quiet as a mouse. He eyes the armour with guarded excitement, half of him probably shocked at seeing Iron Man and the other half perhaps wondering whether this is the same man who had written his father.

Fuck it. Tony triggers the armour’s release, waiting for the metal plates to slide open before he steps out onto the ground in front of him. He takes in a breath, his gaze locked on Steve’s wide eyes as he also puts the pieces together.

“Yeah, bud. I’m Tony Stark,” he whispers, crouched down low so he’s at eye level with Peter.

He looks back up at Steve, waiting for his call. It feels eerily like they’re out with the Avengers, battling the next threat and Tony waiting for Cap to call it. Always waiting.

Steve steps closer to the two of them, and holds out his hand. Tony takes it.


End file.
